


Getting Better and Better

by great_white_shark



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Monsters, Bad Flirting, Chubby Dean, Embarrassed Sam, Exhibitionism, Mechanic Dean, POV Alternating, Waiter Castiel, Weight Gain, and very self-confident, dean is bi, gratuitous winking as part of the bad flirting, it's really not that ship-heavy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 18:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11258478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/great_white_shark/pseuds/great_white_shark
Summary: Dean's totally flirting with the hot waiter. Badly. Dean's fat, he's self-confident, and he knows he's a catch. But he's still not letting his flirting get in the way of an all-you-can-eat buffet.Warning for Dean's belly.





	Getting Better and Better

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, what's up. I've never written a fic before, but I read chubby!dean fics on ao3 and chubwinchesters all the time and decided that the world needed more. And I love when Dean is big but KNOWS he's still a catch. And this Dean is pretty big. Hope y'all like it.
> 
> This was completed as a response to an anonymous prompt on chubwinchesters. I'm not gonna say what the prompt was, cause it'll give away the story, but it's on their Dreamwidth if you wanna check it out.
> 
> (This is crossposted on a Dreamwidth of the same name.)

 

**Part One: Outside the Restaurant (Sam's POV)**

 

Sam impatiently checked his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. 7:14. Dean was late.

You'd expect that Sam would be used to this by now - after all, Dean was _never_ on time - but he was especially annoyed today. It had been Dean's idea to get dinner, not Sam's. He'd told Sam he'd made the reservations for 7:00. Sam glanced at his watch again.

7:16.

Sam sighed. He normally wouldn't mind Dean's tardiness, but he had just finished his finals a couple days ago and was still a little on edge. Dean had suggested dinner to take Sam's mind off of things - and to celebrate Sam's upcoming graduation from the University of Kansas School of Law - but Sam was starting to regret this decision. He was tired, he was stressed, he was hungry... Ugh, maybe he should've taken Jess up on her offer to have dinner with her family that night.

Just as Sam was debating calling Jess and asking if it was too late to swing by for dinner, he heard the telltale rumble of the Impala's engine as it swung into the parking lot. _Finally._ Took him long enough.

Sam tapped his foot impatiently as Dean parked his car, crossing his arms for good measure. He wanted Dean to know that he was annoyed. But most of his animosity melted away as the driver's door opened, Dean greeting him with a cheerful "Sammy!" as he struggled out of the car. He couldn't stay mad when Dean was so happy to see him.

"Hey, Dean," Sam replied. "Nice of you to finally show up." He wasn't annoyed anymore, not really, but he still had to antagonize his brother. It was practically his job as the younger sibling.

"Oh, shut up," Dean huffed. "Now come over here and help a guy out."

Sam's face heated up with a slight flush. He'd always loved to keep in shape, running every morning since his freshman year of high school and going to the gym whenever possible. Both of their parents were pretty fit too, and Dean's ex-girlfriend had been a yoga instructor. You'd think that at least _some_ of these healthy habits would have rubbed off on Dean.

Well, you'd be wrong. Dean had been on the fat side of chubby since elementary school, but it was only since he'd gotten his own garage that Dean had really started packing on the pounds. Dean was still a mechanic, but he didn't really do any of the physical labor anymore. He mostly just sat behind a desk nowadays. Being the shop's owner, Dean dealt more with paperwork and supplies, not so much the actual fixing of the cars, and cutting basically the _only_ exercise out of his life had made a huge difference in his physique. And Sam meant _huge_.

Sam was still slightly red in the face as he walked quickly over to the Impala. Dean had struggled with getting out of the car for the past year or so now, but he was still able to do it under his own power. Sam was about to tell Dean that he could get himself out of his own damn car when he reached the open door and saw the problem.

You see, Sam hadn't actually seen Dean for going on three months. His last year of law school had been extremely busy, and Dean actually lived a couple hours away. Of course they'd texted and talked on the phone on a weekly basis, but the point was that Sam hadn't actually _seen_ Dean for a little while. But he'd never expected Dean to change so much in those three months. Physically, at least.

Dean's problem was that his gigantic stomach was pressed so hard against the steering wheel that he'd managed to get stuck in the driver's seat. His brother's face was redder than his own - though Dean's flush was likely from the exertion of trying to pry himself out, not embarrassment - as he tried to yank himself out of his seat through sheer force. God, last time Sam had ridden in Dean's car, he'd probably had at least half a foot between himself and the steering wheel. What the hell happened? He was about to ask Dean why he'd blubbered out so much when he heard something creak.

"Dean, stop! Oh my god, you're not gonna be able to get out that way!" Sam's face turned even redder with embarrassment as he noticed that Dean's shirt had rolled up with his struggle and was now resting just above his belly button. He ripped his eyes away from Dean's pale, stretch marked gut and hissed, "And put that thing away! We're not the only people here, you know."

Dean's face, now covered in a thin sheen of sweat, looked completely indifferent to this chain of events. His two chins - almost three now, Sam noticed - wobbled back and forth freely as he chuckled, panting like a racehorse all the while.

"Sammy, my shirt's just gonna roll up again if I try to stretch it back down. Why don't you try an' make yourself useful instead? Do me a favor and pull," he said, reaching out towards Sam with a pudgy hand. He still wore his favorite ring, Sam noticed, but it was so tight that it looked to be cutting off his circulation.

"Dean, that obviously isn't gonna work," Sam shot back. "You're packed in there like a goddamn sardine. Actually, come to think of it, how the hell have you been getting to work if you can't even get out of your car?"

"Work truck. Seat goes back farther than Baby's," he grunted as he patted he car's dashboard affectionately. "Haven't driven her in a month or so."

"And how did you even get here? Can you turn the wheel? Like, at all?"

"Yeah, just takes a bit of elbow grease," Dean replied, flexing his flabby biceps. They didn't bulge in the slightest. "And anyways, it's not really all that tight. Her seat doesn't go back anymore, but it's okay. I still fit."

Still unsure as to how Dean had managed to actually turn the steering wheel - especially considering the fact that, regardless of what Dean said, he was in _no way_ in shape - Sam just eyed Dean's mammoth stomach distastefully and said, "Sure, Dean."

Checking his watch again, Sam noticed that it was now 7:24. The restaurant had a cancellation policy for reservations missed by half an hour or more. Ignoring his ongoing embarrassment, Sam said, "Dammit, Dean! Fine, look, I'll push your stomach in with one hand and pull with the other. Suck in as hard as you can and give me a hand."

Dean complied, putting his hand in Sam's and taking a deep breath. Sam noticed that Dean's belly didn't actually move at all, but Dean looked like he was trying really hard to suck his gut in, so Sam sucked it up and just _pushed_ as hard as he could, pulling at the same time. 

Sam swore he heard a faint popping noise as Dean was yanked from the driver's seat, his belly jiggling like it was made of jello. There were red marks in the shape of a steering wheel on Dean's gut. Sam pulled Dean's shirt down as quickly as he could, but it was very tight and still didn't cover his brother's entire stomach. A bit of his underbelly popped out below the shirt and it actually looked like Dean wasn't wearing a shirt at _all_ , as the shirt showcased his cave-like belly button, hanging breasts, and bulging love handles. 

"Phew, felt like a fuckin' sausage in there," Dean panted as he rubbed his stomach. "Not that I don't love my Baby, but she is _not_ built for big dudes." His face was starting to return to its normal coloring, but Sam's only grew redder as Dean's shirt rode up with the motion of his hands. He was about to chew Dean out for not wearing clothes that fit - never mind the fact that he was so fat that he couldn't get out of his own goddamn car - but he took a deep breath and checked his watch. 7:26. 

"Yeah, whatever," Sam mumbled, annoyed once again. "You can thank me later, cause we need to get a move on. Our reservation was for almost half an hour ago, Dean." Sam started walking quickly toward the restaurant's entrance, expecting Dean to be close behind.

 

* * *

**Part Two: Inside the Restaurant (Dean's POV)**

 

"Our reservation was for almost half an hour ago, Dean," Dean said to himself in a high-pitched voice, watching as Sam walked away. God, his little brother was such a nerd.

Dean grunted as he starting walking - well, waddling - after Sam, but Sam just kept getting farther and farther away. Curse Sam and his stupid moose legs. And curse Dean's huge gut for getting in the way of where his own legs needed to go. Don't get him wrong, Dean _loved_ his body, but sometimes he got tired of his belly always getting in the way. But, of course, Dean realized that he had to get used to it. He loved being fat too much to lose any weight, and he loved food too much to stop _gaining_ weight. He'd weighed in at 513 a few weeks ago - though he'd probably packed on a good 20 pounds since then - and could still get around on his own. Well, mostly, as he evidently needed some help getting out of his Baby, but he could still walk just fine. His gut only covered about half of his thighs, just enough to make walking a little harder, not impossible. It was the biggest part of him by a long shot, but it stuck out in front way more than it hung down.

God, Dean never would've thought that he'd ever get this big. Back before getting ownership of the garage a little over a year and a half ago, his 300 pound self had never even imagined cresting 500 pounds. The pounds had piled on fast, and now Dean regularly fantasized about hitting the next big number. 550, 600, maybe more... Actually, 550 couldn't be too far off.

Dean snapped out of his thoughts as Sam impatiently called his name. "I'm coming, Samsquatch," he called back. "Not my fault you're a fuckin' giant with grasshopper legs."

When Dean made it to the door, he heard Sam mumble, "Not my fault you're too fat to walk at a normal pace," but Dean didn't say anything. Hey, Sam may have been right, but Dean took pride in his ambling pace. Meant that he was getting bigger every day, and if Sam couldn't appreciate that, then he didn't deserve a snappy comeback. 

Sam checked in with the hostess for their reservation, and though she looked fairly annoyed, Dean and Sam were promptly shown their table.

It was a booth.

Dean hadn't sat at a booth since he was 400 pounds, and even then it hadn't been comfortable.

That was probably 130 pounds ago.  _At least_ , his mind whispered.

Sam slipped into his seat easily, raising his eyebrow as Dean just stood there. "Come on, dude. I'm hungry, and I know for _sure_ that you're hungry-" Dean's belly growled in response - "so sit your fat ass down."

Dean shifted from foot to foot, rubbing his gut absentmindedly, unsure of how to solve this problem. The table was bolted down, so there was no moving it. There wasn't a lot of space between the booth and the table, so there was no way he could squeeze in there. And he wasn't gonna chicken out and ask to be seated at a table with chairs, either. He was a Winchester, and Winchesters didn't back down.

Just as Sam's eyes widened in understanding, Dean figured out the solution to his problem. After all, the table was pretty low - weirdly low, actually, seemed to be a bit of a design flaw - and his belly was pretty maneuverable. Before Sam could flag down a waiter and get them seated somewhere else, Dean sat down sideways on his side of the booth, belly hanging out to the side as his ass and love handles shoved against the table. He spread his legs to give his gut some room, groaning when it dropped between his thighs.

"Dean," Sam whispered, "what the hell are you doing? I'll just get us a different table-"

"Don't worry, Sammy, I've got it," Dean replied, a little out of breath. "Just need to figure out the best way to pivot."

"Pivot? What-"

Sam fell silent, face red as Dean hefted up his gigantic gut with his arms. Groaning at the weight of his stomach, Dean shuffled around as he slowly pivoted to sit the right way in the booth. His chins wobbled as his breath came faster; his belly was fucking _heavy_ , and this was by no means easy. His sides shoved against the table as he turned, pushing against the polished wood, as his shirt had ridden up quite a bit. Finally, just as his arms were about to give out - yeah, it had only been about 10 seconds, but his gut was enormous and Dean wasn't exactly in shape - Dean realized he was facing the right way and let go of his belly with a puff of breath. It made a loud smacking noise as it plopped down on the table, pushing into the space where he was expected to put his food. Dean groaned happily as he rested his hands on either side of his belly, Sam gaping like a fish across from him.

"I- You- Dean, what the fuck are you doing?" Sam finally hissed at him a few seconds later. 

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Dean said, still a little out of breath. "I'm sitting." He was actually pretty proud of himself. He hadn't been able to sit in a booth for months, but now he'd figured it out. Dean liked this place. If all of the tables were this low, he'd be coming here a lot more often. Maybe this would become his new favorite spot to take dates.

"Oh my god, Dean, you can't just- Oh! Hello!" Sam sputtered as their waiter approached. And _damn_ , Dean had now made up his mind about coming here more often. Soft-looking hair, gorgeous eyes, pink lips... oh yeah, he'd be coming here a _lot_. Sue him, he had a type, and it had just walked up and asked what he wanted to drink. And so what if he happened to be a dude? He tended to lean more towards women, but that didn't mean that he _only_ liked women. Dean didn't like to deprive anyone of all that he had to offer.

"Milkshake, sweetheart," Dean responded with a wink. "Whatever kind is your favorite."

The waiter's ears turned a little red - _holy shit that's adorable_ , Dean thought - and his eyes flew down to Dean's belly-shelf for a split second before returning to his eyes. Dean couldn't blame him; it was pretty hard to miss in general, but when Dean's gut was on display like this, it quickly became his best feature. He made direct eye contact with their waiter as he fondled his underbelly, licking his lips as he amended, "Actually, get me two of your favorite."

"G-gladly, sir," the cute waiter stuttered. Sam ordered a water - what a fuckin' loser, how were they even related - and the waiter smiled shyly at Dean before he walked away. Dean craned his neck to watch him go. Damn, tight ass too. And was it Dean's imagination, or had the waiter seemed interested in him, too?

"Dean, it's rude to flirt with the waitstaff," Sam admonished. "And get your stomach off the table! Have some self respect!"

"Sorry, little brother, but I can't turn this thing off," Dean smirked, gesturing to himself. "And this is the only way I fit, dickhead. Besides, I think I might do this more often. I'm kinda liking this." He shoved one hand under his belly - and damn, was _that_ a tight fit - as he picked up the menu with the other.

Sam, sensing that the topic was closed, just gave an angry sigh as he picked up the other menu. Didn't stop him from giving Dean dirty looks every once in a while. Eventually, though, Sam just started ignoring him completely.

As Dean flipped the menu to the back, he noticed the "Specials" section. In big block letters, the menu exclaimed, "THURSDAY NIGHT - $15 ALL-YOU-CAN-EAT BUFFET!"

It was Thursday.

Holy shit, this night just kept getting better and better.

Their cute waiter came back with Sam's water and Dean's milkshakes, setting Sam's drink in front of him while he held the two shakes awkwardly. He seemed unsure as to where to set the shakes, as Dean's belly took up most of his dining area.

"Just give 'em here, sweetheart. I'll double fist 'em," Dean said with a laugh. The waiter flushed again - and again, how goddamn _adorable_ \- and handed Dean his drinks. Their fingers brushed, and the waiter glanced down towards Dean's rolling gut once more. He didn't look away this time, and when Dean cleared his throat, he practically had to pry his eyes away. Oh, Dean could have some fun with this guy.

"What would you two gentlemen like to eat this evening?" the waiter asked. He said gentlemen, but he was only looking at Dean. Well, Dean's lips, but Dean understood. He had a great set of lips.

Dean licked his lips and he took a gulp of his milkshake, keeping eye contact the whole time. Oh sweet merciful god, they were double chocolate. He thought it was a great choice, and he informed the waiter of this as he rubbed at his gut happily. The waiter's pupils dilated.

"Well," Sam said with an eye roll, clearly annoyed, "I'll have the house salad. Dean?"

"Oh my god, I've said it before and I'll say it again - how are we related?" The waiter seemed to perk up a little once Dean made it clear that he and Sam were related, that they weren't on a date. Yeah, the dude definitely had the hots for Dean. Seemed that he had good taste in more than just milkshakes. "Anyways, darlin', I'll have the buffet special."

A little bolder now, the waiter gave him a once over and replied, "Of course, sir. Let me know if you need help with anything." He walked away, hips swaying a bit this time. Once again, _that ass_.

"Dean, stop ogling the waiter," Sam mumbled with no real heat this time.

Dean just bounced his eyebrows.

"Did you even think about how you're gonna get to the buffet, Dean? How are you gonna get out?" Sam looked a bit smug now, the little shit.

"Oh ye of little faith," Dean shot back. "Watch and learn."

Dean set the shakes down to his left as he lifted his mammoth gut once again. Fuck, this wasn't any easier the second time. He huffed and puffed as he slowly pivoted to the right, chins and breasts wobbling as sweat dripped down his back. Was it hot in here, or was it just him?

As he finally got sideways, Dean spread his legs to let his gut drop again and let out a long breath. He looked around the restaurant for the buffet, but his eyes found their waiter first. He was partially hidden behind a partition, but Dean could clearly see his dropped jaw and the tent in his pants. Dean winked at him, and the man's eyes widened as he ducked completely behind the barrier.

Eyes on the buffet table - wait, buffet _tables_ , as in more than one, oh he was in _heaven_ \- Dean put his hands behind him and pushed. Every bit of him jiggled as he stood up. The whole ordeal was a little tiring, if he was being honest, but he was a man on a mission.

He slowly made his way to the set of tables, hands resting on the sides of his belly as he walked, as Dean liked to feel how he jiggled when he moved. When he reached the buffet, Dean's shirt was back above his belly button, but he was too hungry to care. Some skinny chick gasped as he got in line behind her, like his very existence was scandalous. He just winked at her as he patted his ample gut, and she huffed, disgusted, and looked away. Whatever, he wasn't everyone's type, but she sure was missing out.

Dean's mouth watered and his stomach roared as he got to the front of the line. He grabbed three plates, as he didn't want to make a lot of trips, and started filling them until food was about to fall off the sides. Gourmet burgers, mashed potatoes, prime rib, lamb chops, biscuits, macaroni and cheese, and so many packets of butter... Dean was set, at least for the next half hour. He wasn't sure how he was gonna get out of the booth after these three plates - as he would need the plates refilled, of course - but for now, he was satisfied.

By the time he made it back to the booth, his stomach was growling like a bear. He hadn't had anything to eat in four whole hours. It was the longest he'd gone without eating in weeks (even including sleep, as Dean made a point to have nightly midnight snacks). Dean shoved his plates off to Sam as he situated himself back on the bench seat, ignoring Sam's mumbling as he lifted his gut and pivoted.

When he was situated, Sam placed the plates down on Dean's right. There was just enough space for the three plates. But Dean couldn't eat like that, as the distance between the plates and his mouth was much too far - his arm would tire much too soon - so Dean took a plate and rested it on the crest of his belly, using his left hand to steady it as his right grabbed a fork.

Sam rolled his eyes with no real menace and waited for his salad. _Salad_ , what a loser. And Sam's eyes were gonna fly out of his head if he kept rolling them so often. When his belly gave a huge groan, Dean immediately started shoveling food into his mouth as fast as he could. His gut demanded it.

First was the mac and cheese, followed by the burgers. When the first plate was done, Dean's belly wasn't even sated in the slightest. It roared for more, and Dean intended on giving it just what it wanted... after he figured out how to open the goddamn butter packets. He wanted those biscuits, but the butter packets did not want to comply with his fat fingers. Dean threw his head back with a moan, longingly thinking of buttered bread as he reached for his milkshake to tide him over.

"Oh my god, Dean," Sam said, "just let me do it." The butter packets were all open and smeared on the biscuits within thirty seconds.

"Haf I evah told you that yer mah favurite brotha?" Dean said through a mouthful of bread, spraying crumbs everywhere.

"Ew, Dean! And I'm your only brother, asshole."

The second plate was gone and Dean was already starting to think about seconds when their waiter approached with Sam's salad. He undressed Dean with his eyes as he set Sam's plate down, staring down at Dean's gut as Dean started to ask Sam about refilling his plates. Dean gave the waiter another wink just to see that cute blush again, but otherwise his attention stayed focused on Sam.

"No, Dean."

"Come on, Sammy!"

"Get them yourself!"

"But Sammy, I'm too fat," Dean moaned. "It'll take me forever!"

"And whose fault is that?" Sam retorted. "No, Dean, I'm not getting you more food."

Dean stuck his bottom lip out, resigned to his fate. He'd started his third plate a minute ago and was not looking forward to getting them refilled, as his big, lard-filled gut was actually beginning to seal him into the booth. Getting out would be a bitch.

When Dean was almost done with his third plate, the cute waiter approached with what looked like someone else's order.

"I, um, heard that you might want some more food, sir," he said quietly, for once not making eye contact with Dean. Holy fuck, the food was for _Dean_. The waiter had six plates balanced on his arms - wow, the guy was good, he must have been working here for a while - and two were filled to overflowing with decadent desserts. Dean would have a total of _nine_ plates tonight. He'd never eaten that much at a buffet. Hell, he'd never eaten that much period. The waiter finally made eye contact again, and there was a glint in his eye. He knew this would be a challenge. Dean heard a growling noise, but rather than his stomach, it had been Dean himself that made the noise. Oh, sweet _lord._

"Sweetheart," Dean began, "you just became my favorite person."

He finished his third plate quickly and took some plates from their waiter, stacking three of the full plates on top of the three empty ones. But there were still three plates left, and not much space. Dean thought for a moment. What the hell was he supposed to do?

The waiter spoke up. "I have an idea, sir, if you don't mind." Dean shrugged, interested in what the man had to offer (in more ways than one, heh). He was definitely not expecting the guy to reach over Dean and place a plate directly on his belly, somehow fitting all three on the surface, maintaining eye contact the whole time. Dean had to keep an arm up to keep them from sliding off, but they all fit. He licked his lips. Across the table, Sam looked like he wanted to disappear into thin air.

"T-thanks, darlin'." Apparently it was Dean's turn to stutter. This guy was just getting bolder and bolder, and damn if Dean wasn't into it. And when he winked as he walked away, Dean's dick twitched. Oh yeah, he loved this place, not only for the food but also the eye candy and the crappy flirting.

Sam crunched on his salad, trying not to look at Dean as they talked about various subjects, apparently embarrassed by his public gluttony. Dean didn't hold it against him, though; he knew Sam loved him, and so what if he thought Dean was being a pig? He was right, after all, Dean thought as he tore into a steak.

By the fourth plate's completion, Dean was starting to feel full. Not full to bursting, by any means, but full enough that he could have stopped if he wanted to. The type of full where any normal person would have stopped eating.

Dean didn't stop eating

By the sixth plate, Dean was puffing a bit. This was real work. His gut was pretty damn full by the end of the sixth plate, and this is when Dean usually would have stopped eating. But he didn't want to disappoint his waiter - yes, he'd started referring to him as _his_ waiter, what about it - so he kept on trucking.

By the end of the seventh plate, however, Dean's belly put up a wall. It didn't want any more food, and it was protesting the food currently in it. But Dean wasn't a quitter. He hadn't even had dessert yet!

Ignoring Sam's grumbled complaints from across the table, Dean reached under the table and popped the button on his jeans, unzipping them for good measure. His belly wasn't trapped in his jeans at all - oh no, he was way past the stage where he could fit his gut in his pants - but it was still squeezing uncomfortably down there. Partially due to his food binge, partially due to the tent in his pants that had developed over the course of his meal. When the button was popped, Dean gave a loud sigh of relief, his dick and stomach taking up the space they really needed. Sam made an embarrassed noise, but Dean didn't care. He pressed down on his crotch for good measure. Oh _god_ , that was good.

As much as he wanted to, Dean at least had enough social graces to not jerk off in a restaurant. He reluctantly left his straining cock alone as he returned his attentions to his belly. It needed some soothing, and he knew just the thing.

Dean used both his hands to rub his stuffed gut down. He could feel the hard ball of his stomach underneath the many layers of his fat, and he smiled a little, because even when he was full to bursting, his stomach wasn't completely hard. It was too big and soft and had too many rolls for that to ever happen.

He focused mostly on the hardest parts of his gut, trying to break up the food faster, trying to make more room in the monster. A few seconds in, he hit a pocket of air instead of a bit of food, surprising himself with a deep, resounding belch that gave him a surprising amount of room. While Sam (and some of the other patrons) looked mortified, the whole burping thing freed up a lot of space, so Dean started to focus on that instead. Every time he hit a pocket of air in his belly, it forced out a loud burp. Regardless of how it made him look like a total pig, it felt _awesome_. After about ten minutes of this routine, Dean felt like he was ready to tackle dessert.

He hefted the dessert plates onto his stomach, grunting a little at the added pressure on his tender gut. Wasting no time, he started shoveling food in as fast as he could, trying to get dessert done with before his stomach even registered that he was eating. He didn't care if he made a mess; it was more important to get the delicious cookies, cakes, and pastries down as quickly as possible. When he finished the first plate and saw that the second was filled mostly with pie, Dean almost came.

With one piece of pie left, Dean moaned like a porn star as his left hand trailed down to massage his mountainous belly. It had progressed across the table during the course of his feast and was now encroaching into Sam's space. Sam, disgruntled, tried to ignore it as he played some game on his phone. Dean wasn't mad at Sam for ignoring him, as they _had_ been at the restaurant for over two hours. The only reason he wasn't bored was because he had been constantly eating.

Dean lifted his right hand to his mouth in a slow rhythm as he worked at his belly with his left, valiantly attempting to finish his ninth plate. Dean felt like he was going to explode, and not just in his gut.

His dick was hard as a rock by this point, but he couldn't exactly do anything about it, both because he was in public and because he was pretty sure that he couldn't reach around his gut at that point; his arms felt like lead and his belly was bloated beyond belief. Some combination of the delicious food, the show he was putting on, the plain disgust on the other diners' faces, the hot waiter, and the thrill that his hard on couldn't even be seen due to his hulking belly turned him on like nothing else. Maybe he'd call Lisa tonight. Yeah, she was his ex, but they still kind of had this friends with benefits thing going on that Dean could really go for right about now.

As Dean's hand delivered the final bite of pie to his mouth, he leaned all the way back and moaned quietly. Both hands now devoted to giving himself a belly rub, Dean took a deep breath and released it all the way, groaning a little when the action pushed his stomach up into his lungs. Nevertheless, he continued to breathe deeply and rub himself down, whining for Sam to rub a spot on the apex of his belly. He could no longer reach it, as his gut was too big and bloated. He'd never been this big in his life. He'd probably put on a few pounds during this meal alone.

Sam, more compliant now that Dean was actually done with his meal, rubbed a bit of his belly halfheartedly. "Buddah's got nothing on you," he joked weakly. "Jesus, Dean, you really made a pig out of yourself."

Dean hummed in agreement, his belly stuffed so full he felt like he was floating. He moved his hands under the table to rub the very underside of his belly, and his hand accidentally brushed his cock. Dean had to take a huge breath - deeper than any previously - to keep himself from visibly reacting in any other way, and as he let it out, he felt the seam on his obscenely tight shirt tear.

The weight of the plates had kept his shirt from riding up too much, and while that had made Sam happy - he got what he called "second-hand embarrassment" when Dean's clothes didn't fit, and he was pissy enough as it was - it meant that Dean's shirt had been suffocating him for the past hour or so. Apparently, his deep breath had stretched his abused shirt past its limits.

It didn't tear much, to Dean's slight disappointment. The shirt was not in tatters by any means, and the ripped sides were still connected by threads... it was just that the sides were now spaced a good six inches apart, the thin black threads the only thing keeping them together. And it was just up the right side, the side facing out and towards the restaurant, so everyone could see what Dean's gluttony had wrought. Dean moaned at the thought, wondering what the other diners thought of him.

He actually felt a lot better, too; the tear had allowed his belly to expand somewhat, but now that Dean knew how much his shirt was constricting him, he wanted it off _now_. Sam looked like he wanted to sink into the ground. Dean just continued to rub his own gut, eyes closed.

It was at this moment that the waiter stopped by to drop off the check. His eyes bulged a bit at the sight of Dean's ruined shirt, and, realizing that Dean was a bit incapacitated, he handed the check off to Sam without taking his eyes off of Dean and his mammoth stomach resting on the majority of the table.

"Your check, sirs," he said. Dean found the energy to open his eyes just enough to give his now-customary wink to his waiter but said nothing, his panting getting in the way of anything he might have wanted to say. He closed his eyes again, and the waiter gave Sam an awkward smile as he walked away.

After a moment, without opening his eyes, Dean grunted, "Lemme pay," through his heavy breathing. "'S my idea to go to dinner. An' we were supposed to-" he hiccuped "-be celebratin' you."

Sam sighed and passed the check over. "You just wanna leave the hot waiter a huge tip."

Dean just smiled, knowing Sam was absolutely right.

He struggled to sit up a little more, knowing that it would be a bit of a chore to get to his wallet. Dean still kept everything - wallet, change, keys - in his front pockets, even though he couldn't really reach them anymore. It was usually quite difficult to get things from his pockets, but tonight Dean was grateful; his belly was already out of the way, so all he had to do was reach underneath.

Well, in _theory_ that's all he had to do. In practice, Dean was so stuffed and lazy that it was a struggle to both lift his arm off the table and reach around his bloated stomach to the pockets underneath. And then it was a struggle to not touch his desperately-hard cock, since his hand was so close to it. And _then_ it was a struggle to do everything in reverse order, plopping his arm back down on the table, wallet in hand, panting like he ran a marathon. Jesus, he'd gotten so fat that reaching his goddamn pockets was starting to become impossible. Dean grinned.

Dean stuck his credit card in the folder with the check and immediately leaned back to continue his belly rub. Sadly, a combination of his stuffed belly and overall laziness caused him to doze off, and when Sam smacked him in the belly to wake him up, the check was paid and the hot waiter was gone. Dammit.

He grunted a curse at Sam, as the slap had caused his overly-full gut to jiggle madly, and picked up the receipt to leave an 80% tip. It was then that he noticed the white box sitting next to the folder. Curious, he said to Sam, "I didn't know we had any leftovers. You get something to go?"

Sam just shook his head. Huh. What the hell was it, then?

Dean sat up a little more - though it was quite difficult with his stuffed gut - and pulled the food box closer to him, opening it to reveal a full pecan pie. His mouth watered despite his bursting stomach, and he started to eat it right away, ignoring the protests of both his brother and his own body. Hey, even if it wasn't _originally_ theirs, finders keepers and all that jazz. And the pie looked too good to leave until tomorrow.

As he continued to liberally sample the pie, Dean started to think back on his idea of calling up Lisa when he got home. Might be a little while, cause he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to move (let alone get in his car) for at least half an hour, but she'd still be awake. They hadn't had sex in a few months now, and it filled Dean with glee to think about how she might react to his new weight. Also, he was still hard as a goddamn rock and had been for at least an hour.

Dean's fantasizing was cut short as he noticed the short note scrawled on the inside of the box. He hauled the pie on top of his belly and continued to eat, grunting as the motion caused all of his rolls to shake. The note read:

_Call me?_

_816-226-7345_

_\- Cas_

_P.S. - The pie is on the house. I'm friends with the chef ;)_

Well, maybe he wouldn't call Lisa. Maybe he would go home, finish the pie, and try to jerk off around his mountainous gut to the thought of his waiter. Of "Cas." And then he'd call him in the morning. The whole "72 hours" rule was stupid anyways, and Dean wanted to get to know him better ASAP.

Dean smiled as he patted his underbelly. Oh yeah, he was _definitely_ coming back here.

**Author's Note:**

> So what do you think? Told you that Dean was pretty big lol
> 
> Also, Castiel's number is totally made up. It has the Kansas City area code, and it could very well be a real number. Whoops.
> 
> BTW, the prompt was about Dean needing to rest his belly on a table in order to eat ;)


End file.
